


Say It Somehow

by Adadzio



Series: Smut [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/M, How Mel might have developed the "king's red shadow" nickname, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Lobster Flambe Beach Scene, More Show than Book Canon, Post-Blackwater, Second Time, Sexual Tension, Stannis Nuzzling Mel with His Stubble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adadzio/pseuds/Adadzio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>We'll play a game; you'll trace it on my skin.</i>
</p><p>She was his priestess, and then one night, she was more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say It Somehow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maggadin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggadin/gifts).



> **Prompts:** "First time doin’ it for 'frivolous'/non-shadowbaby-related reasons" / Stannis is scared of, errr, unwanted repercussions / post-Blackwater sex
> 
>  _I swear the first draft was 0% angst but_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

[ _ _ ](http://histruequeen.tumblr.com/post/144481815083/trammtararam-my-enemies-think-theyve-destroyed)

* * *

 

_Say it somehow, Lord. Give me a sign._

The sea—black and cold—offered her nothing. It was the earliest hours of the morning, and Dragonstone was silent and black. There was only the sound of waves crashing upon that jagged shore like blunt knives.

Melisandre sighed, turning back to the fire. She would find better comfort in her flames.

 _Show me the next step,_ she begged again _, for I have no answers._

None of them did.

Her king had been utterly destroyed at the Blackwater, as she might have predicted had he not left her behind. Ser Davos’s doing, she knew.Even still the Onion Knight was missing from Dragonstone. Stannis had all but presumed him dead in the battle, a harsh truth she knew secretly grieved him. Of course, it was only one of her defeated king’s grievances. She could tell he wanted nothing more than to strangle her the moment they were reunited, but the iron of his hands never reached her throat. 

 _He is lost._  Her heart wept in a bitter hymn. _He is lost, and he is broken_.

It wasn’t until she’d shown him his destiny in the fire that he was found again. “Do you see, my king?” she murmured into his ear.

“Yes,” he finally said. “ _Yes.”_

A blessed warmth spread throughout her body at that. She leaned her head against his shoulder when they were both captured by the flames, and he eventually sighed. “I nearly used force against you. Forgive me. It’s no way to treat a lady.”

She wanted to say there was nothing to forgive. She had known far worse at the hands of men, and in any case, she was no true lady. Instead she simply kissed his jaw—with perhaps a bit too much familiarity for an advisor—and that meant _I forgive you, of course I do_ _._

Even at present Melisandre felt such adoration, warmed by the very thought of him. The air was stagnant and cool, but the flames seemed to echo her sentiments.  _Show me the way, show me somehow, show me your champion,_ she chanted silently.

Just then Stannis Baratheon himself barged into the chamber of the painted table. “My king,” she greeted in surprise. She nearly made the mistake of saying _my lord_. She still found it difficult to keep up with Westerosi etiquette, especially with Stannis so newly laying claim to the throne.

He squinted to spot her in the darkness. “My lady?” 

She clasped her hands calmly in front of her. “Apologies, my king. I don’t usually spend my nights here. But I felt restless in my own rooms.” He tilted his head slightly, setting down some parchments on the painted table. She noticed he was still fully dressed. _Does he bathe in his chainmail, too?_ “And you, my king…does sleep evade you this night?” 

Stannis looked up at her curtly, but his gaze softened at the sight of her red and lonely by the balcony.  _I know you,_ his eyes decided. There was less and less suspicion on his face these days. “Most nights,” he admitted wearily. 

His eyes confessed the full story.  _I am haunted by my loss, by our son, by this crown_.

The priestess felt a deep sorrow at that. She approached him, and he impulsively shifted away, but she only ran her fingers over the parchments before him. “You mean to do work at this hour?”

Stannis glanced at her treasured fire. “Same as you,” he muttered. 

Her musical laugh filled the quiet room. “My work never ends,” she agreed, “but my body requires less sleep than yours, my king.” He seemed insulted by that, though she hadn’t the faintest idea why.

“Don’t chastise me,” he said, gathering up his scrolls again.

“You’re leaving?”

“I can find another room in this forsaken castle. I need to focus.”

Melisandre lifted an eyebrow at that. It made little sense to her, on several counts. His forces had been destroyed at King’s Landing, his Hand was quite possibly dead, and he was even further from taking the Iron Throne than before. _What could possibly require his attention at this moment?_

 _And in any case…_ Her scarlet figure quickly blocked his path. “Am I so very distracting, my king?” 

He froze, eyes truly studying her for the first time that evening. A long moment passed where she couldn't read his gaze. “Good night, my lady.” Her burning hand caught his arm before he could sulk away. He frowned down at it.

“Can I not help you sleep, at least?”

The air hung heavy with the suggestion, and Stannis grew even more wary. “With sorcery?”

 _I’m his priestess, what does he think I’m trying to do?_ “I could pray, even sing, if you wish it.”

To her shock he seemed to consider this innocent proposal, but he finally shook his head, expression as hidden as the dawn. “No.”

“Very well,” she sighed, withdrawing her hand. He was looking at her very oddly. _What have I done wrong now?_ “Good night, my king,” she said cautiously. When she made to move out of his way, he swiftly leaned forward and kissed her.

 _Oh,_  Melisandre thought.She was too stunned to kiss him back.

Stannis pulled away quickly. He seemed confused by his own actions. “I— " 

_Say it, my king, I'll understand..._

“I apologize, my lady,” he finished. She felt vaguely disappointed. There was a tense pause as they stared at each other. He started to turn away again, and this time it was she who claimed his lips.

 _Why?_ Her own mind felt muddled. _Why did I do that?_

Still, she felt a rush of desire when he groaned, the kiss turning more passionate. Her mind protested again, but she decided the Lord would not disapprove so greatly. “Come to my room,” she breathed. It was a foolish distraction, perhaps, but not necessarily sinful. The shame that surrounded sex in Westeros was as foreign to her as all its other customs.

Stannis allowed her to pull him by the hand. Down twisting corridors they crept, up shadowed stairs. _We look like naughty children,_ she realized dryly. By the time they reached her chamber he seemed to be rethinking his choices—and truth be told, she was as well—but she caught him in another kiss before he could escape. Heat burned down her thighs as his hands snaked grudgingly up her waist. Her own fingers tugged at his doublet.

“Take this off,” she insisted. The king scowled, but he began self-consciously tugging at the laces. If he had been trying to seduce her, he was doing a dreadful job of it. Clearly he wanted her, but she had the distinct impression that _she_ was supposed to be the one carrying out the seduction.

 _Fine. Like our first coupling._  Melisandre hesitated. _Except_... _we cannot hide behind the excuse of conceiving a son._

That made things far more complicated. She knew how to seduce for a purpose—to use her body for survival, even. But here there was no duty, only a lost man and a lonely woman. Her voice had never learned this song. 

 _We'll play a game,_ she decided, though her heart was pounding in a frantic rhythm. _I'll trace it on my skin._ The priestess ran her hands up her sides, over her breasts, fingers toying with the clasp of her robe.His eyes grew dark even as he shrugged off his own clothing.  _I want you,_ that gaze said. 

“Is it true, then?” She found her voice again, though it was barely more than a whisper as the bloody fabric fell away from her body. “Do you find me distracting, my king?” Her hands found his breeches next, palming him lightly through the material.

“Woman,” he hissed, but he involuntarily arched into her caress.

“Is that a yes?” Her lips found his pulse, teeth scraping down his neck. Stannis jerked away, hands finding her bare hips. To her delight he urged her to walk backward.

“You don’t use this very often, do you?” He gestured toward the bed, pushing her to lie on her back.

“No,” she admitted, pulling him down on top of her. “As I said, my body needs little rest.” He fumbled with his breeches, and she leaned forward to free him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t use _this_ very often, do you?” she purred, fingers stroking his cock delicately. He scowled and pushed her onto her back again.

“You have a vulgar tongue for a priestess,” he grit out, thrusting inside her heat with no further warning. She only moaned, pleasantly surprised when he established a steady rhythm, his hands curling about her pale ribcage. This was decidedly less awkward than their other encounter, and more satisfying on her end, seeing as he lasted the whole of ten seconds that time. She pushed against him enthusiastically, raking her nails across his scalp. Stannis seemed uncomfortable with all the stimulation, but that did not stop him from pulling her legs tighter around his waist.

For the first time Melisandre was able to study him at least partially unclothed. He was lean— _and growing leaner by the day,_ she noticed anxiously—but she was discovering the true strength hidden beneath all those rigid layers of clothing. He batted her fingers away as they traced thin white scars down his torso, and she felt somewhat wounded by the rejection.

 _You are his priestess,_ her mind scolded, _not his whore._

The sentiment was not entirely convincing with his cock inside her.

“My king,” she panted, gripping his forearms. _Show him_ _…_  She dragged one of his large hands between her legs. “Yes…” she moaned as he began to stroke her tentatively. Her hips bucked harder against his.

“I…“ He closed his eyes against the mounting pressure. “I’m going to—we shouldn’t— "

Somehow she understood. “Fear not, I won't— I'll not take with child this time.”  

His movements became more erratic. “How can you be sure?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

"I—" He needn't know all the secrets of her sorcery. “Trust me,” she hissed simply. Her cries grew desperate as his thumb began to circle her more rapidly. She hazily worried that Queen Selyse could hear them, shut away in her tower, but then she was unable to care, release washing over her like the black waves of the sea, except warmer—much warmer.

At the tightening of her muscles around him, the king tensed as well, his voice a long groan. Melisandre ran her hands soothingly over his chest. _He’s burning,_ she realized _._

He collapsed next to her on the bed. If she listened hard enough she swore she could hear his heart pounding in a fervent tempo.  _I know that heartbeat. It matches mine own._ Stannis shifted. He was already falling victim to regret and shame, so she wracked her mind to come up with an excuse for this, some way to justify it as their duty. Several long minutes passed as she did so, and he sat up uneasily.

“That was strange,” he declared. Melisandre released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

 _Only Stannis_. “Did you not enjoy it, my king?”

He shrugged stiffly. “I suppose it was not…unpleasant.” She was unable to hold back her laughter now, and his eyes slid over to her. “You—was it—?”

“Strange but not unpleasant,” she agreed, tone solemn.

He narrowed his eyes at her, reaching for his clothing with an acidic look. “Don’t mock me.”

The priestess caught him round the middle, and he jumped like a frightened animal. “I’m not mocking you…” she pressed her lips to his ear, and he shuddered at the contact.

“This was a mistake,” he insisted, voice still hoarse from their immoral union. “It should never have gone beyond...”

Melisandre eased him back into bed. “Perhaps this is our duty, for now,” she murmured.

“Don’t be absurd.”

She employed her sweetest voice. “Do you know I asked the Lord for a sign this night? I prayed to know the path we must take…” She shifted so she was half-lying on him, fingers dancing down his chest. “Then I saw my king before me. Even more, my king kissed me. Do you think that a coincidence?”

Stannis shrugged away from her attentions. “Your god wants us to fuck while my kingdom suffers? That’s his brilliant answer?”

She sighed at the coarseness of his speech. “You saw the truth in the flames, my king. My place is where I might best serve you, to help you realize your great destiny.”

“And that’s in my bed now, is it?”

The priestess lifted her eyebrows. “We are in mine,” she pointed out. “But perhaps we _should_ make more use of it.” He seemed appalled by the proposition, but he did not have the energy to object. She rested her head against his shoulder, as she had done the first time they read the flames together. “Why did you kiss me, my king?” He was silent, so she supplied the answer for him. “You kissed me because you have nothing else to hold onto. Let us draw strength from one another.”

He looked down at her for a long minute, and she wondered if he was offended. “You are a very queer woman,” he said instead. 

Her grin was hidden behind a wave of copper hair. “Strange?” she suggested, and for a moment she was afraid he wouldn’t appreciate the jape.

“But not unpleasant,” he obliged her, voice as dry as winter firewood. She chuckled and stretched like a cat, still completely nude, and the action seemed to remind Stannis that he was very much exposed as well. He finally withdrew, dressing methodically as if it were not the middle of the night. Her red lips curled up. _Is he going back to his crucial work?_ Once he was fully clothed again he glanced over at her with a pained expression.

 _He wants to leave, but he doesn’t want me to feel used._ She slid off the bed, hands reaching almost nervously for him. _Say it…somehow._  “Will you kiss me?”

He sighed as if it were a difficult request, but he also seemed eager to end the puzzling ordeal, so he kissed her chastely. “Good night, my king,” she sighed. He did not answer, only nodded and left.

 _Strange, indeed._  She watched his retreating back.  _But far from unpleasant._

And so it was the next time, and the time after, until the nights blurred together and the routine became familiar. It always began with a look, a look that said _I want you_ , and then a kiss, because a kiss meant _I need you_. The only times it did not end with a kiss as well were those rare occasions when he stayed in her bed, exhaustion overtaking him before he could remember propriety. Usually he would turn on his side with his back to her, but she did not mind his distant nature. The priestess would simply stroke his thin hair, his stubbled jaw, his increasingly angular chest. She sang for him, soothing away his nightmares—just as she’d done in his tent, just as she would do for years to come.

There came a time when he ended up in her bed more nights than not, but she did not mind that either. After all, it was not some frivolous love affair. There was no real harm in it. Yes, it was unexpected, this intimacy—but absolutely meaningless. In the mornings they would convince themselves of that. Even the servants would feign ignorance of his presence in her rooms, pretending that nothing extraordinary was developing between the king and the priestess.

Yet a part of her argued otherwise, and it was not because of the whispers that followed them wherever they went. Rather, more and more when they were together, it did not feel like simple fucking. Not when they were breathing forbidden promises into each other's ears.

 _Say it,_ his eyes demanded once, their fingers entwined above her head.

"Only you," she agreed with an arch of her back, and his forehead came to rest against hers.

Their moans meant something, too, as binding as any vows in a wedding:  _Only yours._

And, yes, she knew the sound of her name on his lips; it was not shallow, nor was it cold. It was burned into her memory, because affectionate words were most alarming on Stannis Baratheon's lips. Even more, somewhere along the way he had begun to shift toward her in his sleep, little by little. One night before she could slip out of bed to sit by the fire, she felt his chest pressed against her back. It was the first time she had known such a gentle touch. She hummed, then, and that was the sound of _wrap your arms around me._  His hands learned that sound. His hands knew that sound.

When morning came it all seemed absurdly domestic. Sometimes she felt like a silly maiden when he kissed her and departed for the day. She was taken aback when he nuzzled her neck for the first time, his sigh lost in her scarlet hair.

It wasn't for some time she admitted the true meaning of _that_ to herself—not even when the Onion Knight washed up half-dead to find the king had acquired an inseparable red shadow.

No, she did not acknowledge the truth until it had gone too far, and then they were standing on the beach of Dragonstone many months later.

She felt the usual sentiments as the wind whipped around them.  _I trust you, I want you, I need you._ It was a song echoing in her head, as steady and ardent as any of her flames.

But when he dragged his lips down the side of her cheek, he traced even more dangerous words upon the white skin. 

_I worship you._

It was blasphemy, but her fingertips followed the lines of his own gaunt cheeks.

 _I know,_  that touch whispered, _and_   _my God lives in you._

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to [ this](https://youtu.be/JSr3WtU7M_A).  
> *wraps Stannis and Mel in warm fuzzy love songs*


End file.
